We could not wait. The night before, we may not have slept, and the next day, we were all too nervous to eat.
The big day was at age 15 when we were eligible for our driver license permit, which allowed us limited use of the family car. Six months later, we would be on our own, free to drive anywhere we chose.
But now, something is very wrong. Now, having compared enough notes with other parents, I have come to the conclusion that driving is not that big a deal for many kids in Newport-Mesa.
The list of eligible drivers among my daughter's friends is more than a few. When I asked one of them why she had not taken the steps to get a license, she said, "Yeah, I need to do that."
There are several reasons why more kids today may not be interested in driving.
One is that it's not as easy as it used to be. Years ago, driver education classes were available in public high schools, complete with a trailer that held simulated cars where we'd watch a movie that put us in street traffic. We had to drive accordingly.
Out on the real road, the size of the cars they provided, combined with streets only as wide as my driveway, quickly weeded out the nervous among us.
So, we'd pass the class, take the written test, take the driving test and get our permits.
Now, public driver education classes have gone the way of the full-size spare tire.
Another reason may be that my friends and I were more eager to escape our homes than are our children. Growing up, my house was probably in the most turmoil, but who knows? All I remember is that we all could not wait to get out.
Now, I'd like to believe that these parents have created a home life that is good to be around.
Still another reason may be that we've trained our kids to treat us like a free shuttle service. When our kids ask for a ride somewhere, they almost always ask, never demand, but the times we deny them are few.
A month ago, however, I put my foot down.
Our daughter is in rehearsals for a play in Santa Ana, which requires transportation during rush hour and in the evening coming home, right around the time I should be in the middle of an old movie.
After a couple of weeks of this nonsense, I suggested something that could very well prompt a visit from Child Protective Services or whichever agency handles suspected cases of child abuse.
"Take the bus," I said.
"Huh?" came the reply.
